The Proof of the Pudding
by MyLadyScribbler
Summary: "Next year, Ducky, you and I - we're going to make Christmas puddings together." Well, next year is here, and the Mallards' silver sixpence finally gets put back into use as Ducky and Abby try their hand at making a traditional plum pudding - complete with flaming brandy.


There are things that you usually smell on the average weekday in Abby Sciuto's forensics lab at NCIS headquarters.

Burnt rubber from tire fragments, various chemicals with names ending in "zine," the occasional whiff of ozone. Somewhat better than what you would smell in the autopsy suite one floor down, but still not particularly pleasant.

But not today.

On this particular late afternoon in December, the air was filled with the scent of brandy, suet and sweet spices as Abby walked back into the lab from the evidence garage.

She took a deep sniff, and grinned.

The scent was coming from the stainless steel pot that was bubbling on the little camp stove set up on the evidence counter.

Inside the pot was a ceramic bowl with a few layers of parchment tied around it. And in that bowl was one of the two authentic, traditional, bona-fide plum puddings that Abby and Ducky had prepared about a month or so earlier.

It had been a chilly, wet, gray November morning outside. All the better to be inside, in the kitchen at Ducky's house.

"So what do you want me to do first?" Abby asked as she hung up her coat and pulled on an apron.

"If you could start the dried fruit on to soak in the brandy, I'll finish up here with the suet," Ducky said from where he was chopping the beef fat into little bits.

"Will do." Abby dumped the raisins, currants, dates and orange peel into a bowl and sloshed some warmed-up brandy over them. "I don't get it – why is it called a plum pudding if there's no plums in here?"

"That's because plum was once taken to mean any kind of dried fruit," Ducky said. He finished chopping the suet, washed his hands and went over to the cupboard. "In some respects it was a good thing I let the tradition lag a bit in recent years. My mother was not to be trusted around alcohol, nor was she to be trusted around open flames," he said as he took out the tin of black treacle and a few bottles of spices. "And certainly not alcohol and open flames at the same time," he said dryly.

"Oh my gosh. I've got a cousin – though I think he was a second cousin, come to think of it – who was the same way," Abby said. "One year, we were all at my grandma's house for Christmas. And there was an incident with a bottle of Jack, a barbecue lighter and a couple of squirrels, and he…"

And the conversation continued in this vein as the prep work for the puddings – for they were making more than one pudding – continued.

"Now at this phase of the operation, it's tradition for everyone to give the pudding a stir and make a wish." Ducky set the bowl of batter down in the center of the counter and looked around. "And since it's just us here, we'll have to make a few extra wishes apiece. You first."

"Oh, goody!" Abby seized the wooden spoon and began pushing it around in the batter. "I wish for a really awesome new year, more cool adventures with the team, more Caf-Pow, a new mass spectrometer, and, okay, you get the idea." She handed the spoon to Ducky. "Your turn!"

"Let's see…I wish for, in the coming year…health, happiness, continued friendships and a few new ones…" Ducky paused. "And no dead bodies on the table until at least after Twelfth Night!"

"But Ducky, won't you get bored?" Abby asked.

"Abby, after that last three-corpse case, I'm ready for a little boredom!" Ducky retorted.

The batter was scraped out into two greased bowls, one large and one small. The larger of the two was to be served at the end of dinner on Christmas Day – the entire Major Case Response Team was expected to be gathered around the board that day. And the smaller was the "test run" pudding.

Ducky took the silver sixpence out of the little velvet drawstring bag he always kept it in, pushed it into the smaller pudding and smoothed over the hole with his finger.

By the end of the day, the kitchen was a bit of a mess, but two completed puddings sat on the counter, ready for their month-long resting period.

Abby picked up the bottle of brandy. "One shot for the pudding…" she said as she gave the puddings one last drizzle before they were covered over.

"And one shot for the pudding makers!" Ducky finished as he put a pair of glass tumblers down on the counter.

One month later, it was that smaller pudding – the one that contained the silver sixpence – that was now steaming away in Abby's lab.

Ducky came into the lab carrying a canvas tote bag – one of several he'd accumulated from medical examiners' conventions over the years. He glanced at his watch as he set the bag on the counter. "It should be about there."

"Well, I hope so, because it smells yummy," Abby said as she went over to her desk and pulled out some plates and cutlery from the top drawer.

Ducky reached into the bag and pulled out a small saucepan, a plate, an igniter and a pair of tongs. Then he glanced over his shoulder to make sure no one – especially from human resources – was in the corridor before he pulled out the bottle of brandy from where it reposed in his lab coat pocket.

Abby grinned and set the saucepan on top of a second Bunsen burner.

"Have you got protective gear?" Ducky asked.

"Welder's masks and flameproof gloves." Abby reached under the counter and pulled out those items.

"Very good. Smoke alarm in good order?"

"Check."

"Fire extinguisher?"

"Back by the computer." Abby gave Ducky a questioning look. "A lot of people get set on fire during Christmas dinner in the Mallard family, Duck?"

"Often enough that we were on first name basis with the local hospital's burn unit staff," Ducky said as he pulled on a pair of flameproof gloves and lifted the lid on the pudding pot, sending a cloud of fragrant steam into the air. "And let's just say that my great-uncle Fergus would have been a kindred spirit to your second cousin and his barbecue lighter," he added dryly as Abby laughed.

Ducky used the tongs to pull the bowl out of the pot and set it down on the counter. He ripped off the parchment covering and set the plate on top of the bowl.

"One, two – three!"

He flipped plate and bowl over, and the pudding came cleanly out onto the plate.

It looked like a steaming, raisin-studded half-cannonball.

By now, the brandy in the saucepan was warm enough. With careful deliberateness, Abby and Ducky put on the welder's masks. Ducky tightened his grip on the saucepan's handle, and Abby donned her gloves and picked up the igniter.

"Fire in the hole!" she shouted as she flicked it on.

The brandy burst into a corona of bluebell-colored flames as Abby touched the igniter to the surface of the brandy. "Now, now, now!"

Ducky quickly poured the brandy over the pudding. The flaming liquid and the blue flames cascaded down the pudding until it was completely engulfed.

Abby lifted her mask and watched, trancelike. "So pretty…"

The flames burned out, leaving behind a smoky-sweet, caramelized aroma rising from the pudding.

"That was absolutely perfect," Ducky said as he took off his mask. "On a scale of one to ten I'd give it a…" He slapped his forehead. "Oh, and I didn't think of making custard sauce."

"That's okay, I've still got a pint of Ben and Jerry's vanilla in my little mini-freezer back there," Abby said.

"Close enough," Ducky said as he reached back into the bag and handed Abby a serving knife. "I'd like you to have the first slice."

"Aw, Duckman…" Abby grinned as she cut into the pudding and put a slice on the plate. "Holy cow! I got the sixpence!"

"Guess you'll be getting that new mass spectrometer, then."

Abby flung her arms around Ducky and gave him a hug. "Joyeux Noel, Ducky."

"Merry Christmas, Abby."


End file.
